Namesake
by UbermenschOverdrive
Summary: Huey P. Newton. Huey Freeman. Taking up the mantle after his namesake had never felt more right to him, in the wake of a catastrophe that changes the face of the USA. "You can't lead a movement from the underground. You have to be visible to the people. In the case of mine, I couldn't afford such luxuries..." AU


_**1. Getaway**_

Disclaimer: I don't own The Boondocks nor any of its characters.

AU

* * *

The phone rang. Usually a common occasion in any other place, suburbs or block offices, places of mediocrity and rat race pacing. It would even make up the majority of the soundtrack to such humdrum. But in the vast basement beneath downtown Chi-town, it sounded out of place. Like hearing James Brown's _Say It Loud- I'm Black And Proud_ at a White Knight meeting.

The urgent ringing filled the empty room, flooding into the hallways. Echoing through the bare concrete walls and stirring a certain afro-headed revolutionary from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on the vintage rotary dial telephone they still used; a worn black 1980's model, that was perched on a simple wooden desk- the only piece of furniture in the room, apart from the chair he was sitting on.

He picked up the phone warily, as if he'd been expecting the call. Pressing the device against his ear softly, he could hear Uncle Ruckus shouting dimly over the mechanical grinding in the background. He probably had a new job. Not that he cared much about the self-hating, bloated waste of air. But being informed about such trivial details were what gave him his edge. And in his line of work, that was vital.

"It's Huey." The man scowled into the mouth-piece when he said his name. He'd rather not reveal such information privy over the phone. But this was an important matter, one where it would be unfortunately, necessary.

"Well, thank white jesus for y'all bein' here! Ya know, I did not know whetha' this number would reach your furry monkey ass or not, but I had to try ya know? Anyways, ya gave me this number personally, so I assume it would reach ya. I-"

"Get to the point." He had no time for small-talk. He'd spend the entire night waiting for this call in particular, and he was in every mood to hear about the news.

"Yeah yeah, sorry, I know how you're oh so busy with your organization these days." Ruckus's voice got an ugly tone to it, one that Huey did not like. "Yeah, I know all about your little nigga protests and underground blowing up shit! Goddamn, why you gotta go against the white man Huey? I told you and your grand daddy and your other monkey brother a long time ago, when will you ever learn?"

Huey's eyes narrowed considerably. "ENOUGH Ruckus. Tell me what you called me for, then hang up. Or have you forgotten the last time?"

The voice from the other side of the connection sighed audibly. Sometimes, Huey wondered it was the right move, still keeping contact with Ruckus. He'd never live it down if it was ever discovered.

"Alright, alright, hold yo' stallions. I'll tell you though, no good can come from yo and whatever you palookas and goons do!" Just was Huey was about to tell him to forget it and sever the line, Ruckus continued quickly. "It's about yo' little brother."

Huey gripped the telephone tightly, almost crushing it. This was promising news. "Go on." he almost whispered.

"I can swear on the white man, I done saw his orangutan ass jus' last week. I was driving home from working at the honourable Mr. Wuncler's mansion, when I saw him scampering across the pavement. He look in my direction, and oh lawd." He paused

"Was it him, Ruckus?"

"I done said I swore it on the white man ain't I?" Ruckus yelled again. Huey refrained from rolling his eyes. It would show human vulnerability. "Even if it didn't, it sure look like the young monkey."

"Where was this."

There was a pause before the voice on the other line spoke up again. "Coney Boulevard. That ole run-down stretch junkheap where only niggas congregate."

"Thank you Ruckus." Huey replied.

"Jus' don't expect me to report for you anymo', I ain't want nothin' to do-"

"Don't call me next time. I'll call you, not the opposite." The steeliness of his voice pierced even Ruckus's thick elephant skin, and he shuddered. Too bad he'd just _had_ to get caught up between the two sides. The white man was of course, always right, but this was Huey wasn't it? And though the little nigga was by all means still, a nigga; even one who fights for other nigga rights! But he owed this much to him.

The revolutionary carefully put the receiver back in its place. He fumed. He knew this wasn't worth his time. Especially now, when he didn't have a minute to spare. And here he'd just wasted an entire night waiting in the basement of somewhere downtown, in the hopes of receiving news of his little brother...

Mustn't think about. He has better things to do. Letting the ice flow through his nerves again, familiarizing himself with the sharp demeanour he was notorious for; he stood up and unplugged the old phone, rolling up the power cord and stuffing it in a duffel bag he procured. He took a sweeping glance through the room, making a face. Why his lieutenant would think this'd be a nice place to spend the night in, waiting for a call is ridiculous... But then again, Caesar wasn't known as the strategist of their group. It was chiefly him who coordinated and schemed.

Leaving the damp basement, his mind raced at what he'd just heard. It would be too much to happen in just one day. It's been five years after all. Five years without any contact or sign. He would've lost hope a long time ago, were it not for that little voice at the back of his head, piping up now and then saying Riley _couldn't_ and _isn't_ dead, and anyway if he was, he'd know for sure. But he admit. He'd certainly been occupied after. Those years when he finally realized what he'd prepared himself for, and who his father had named him after... _Huey P. Newton... Huey Freeman_. In the mirror, he could swear he was still just the small in stature revolutionary. But he knew better than that. With a nation of millions knowing him by a single phrase alone, posters and sites dedicated to luring him out, he knew better than that.

He had to be careful though. These weren't the halcyon Woodcrest years, or the inner-city turmoil in Chi-Town. Or the 60's. They didn't play nice anymore. Dr. King had it easy compared to him. He couldn't rely on the goodwill of the people, nor have faith in humanity. He doubted whether he'd ever had any faith anyway, but it would be mad suicidal to start now.

He climbed the stairs that lead up into the derelict skyscraper; a squatter's residence, still lost in thoughts. A little beep alerted him, making him reach inside his pocket and get out a simple handheld. He pressed the menu button, causing the screen to light up. The display sign showed an incoming message. He frowned, stopping mid-step to read the text. He pressed the button again.

_Get. The. Fuck. Out. They knew you were coming. Car stationed at 21st and 6th Tolstoy Street. Stay low. Never seen theez cats before._

Huey's eyes widened, and immediately crouched down, sneaking up the stairs. He noted the tiny halos of light on the floor, of light shining through the window, street lamps and perhaps _something else?_

The revolutionary wasn't one to be paranoid, but he swore he could hear the rustling of a mass of people attempting to be inconspicuous, stealthy shadows, and the stomping of boots in the distance. He estimated ten, twenty forces sent for him. He really shouldn't've came.

Looking at the tiny map he pulled out, along with a torch he pondered. From foreknowledge, he knew there were several exits. But he didn't know where the men were stationed, and what they were equipped with. He mentally cursed himself for not bringing any weapons along with him. All he could hope for was to duck past, and pray nobody saw him. But it was never that easy now, was it?

The windows in the room shattered, big beams of white cutting through the cold air and illuminating the chamber. Huey didn't even bother to look up, but ducked behind the desks conveniently littered through the room. Furniture the previous owners couldn't've bothered to get rid of.

He was near exposed. But he'd already dug into survival instinct and training. He heard shouts in the electric air as he clambered over the many desks and shot off like a fox to the door. He kicked it in and started sprinting- but not before they started shooting. They had guns apparently, and they didn't sound like most small pea-shooters. So not average night cops. Perhaps it was a full-fledged operation, but he couldn't afford to think about such trivialities. There was always time later, when one wasn't in danger.

Bullets flew past him and collided with the walls, sending up clouds of dust and leaving a trail of craters. He was now fleeing past the changing rooms, increasing pace and keeping his breath level. He still couldn't help the tiniest amount of fear welling up though. If he got caught... He was beyond death then.

In front of him, one of the armed vanguard had his back turned toward Huey. He hadn't seen him yet. Without losing momentum, Huey grabbed him from behind the head, and knocked him out, not caring whether anyone would hear the loud thud the body would make. He thought about taking the weapons, but he'd be way too conspicuous otherwise. How he missed his trusty Browning by his side.

He crept past room after room, until he saw the main entrance, thronging with the same forces. He halted, and took shelter behind a wall. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, so loud he hoped nobody else but him could hear the pounding.

Luckily, they hadn't seen him as well. Their onyx visors covered their heads and made it hard for Huey to even judge where they were looking at, but there were no incoming shots or action. He ducked low and passed silent judgement. He'd need a distraction to lure them out, but what? He suddenly couldn't hear them anymore. He strained his ears, until

A click of a gun, and a cold barrel getting shoved in his ear.

"You're under arrest-." That was as far he got before Huey whipped the side-arm around and whacked the guy in the helmet, shattering it upon contact. He punched the guy in the face solid one more time, shards of glass digging into his unprotected fist, before letting the body fall to the ground.

Which drew the attention of the crowd congregated at the main entrance.

They rushed at the sound, guns at the ready, but Huey had already darted off through the entrance before any were the wiser. He weaved through the side alleys, expecting to dodge more shots but none came. He paused, leaning against a graffitied wall and catching his breath. The writing on the wall caught his eye in the harsh glares of the street lamps, darting halos of illumination falling on the massive stencil; a jagged rising fist in red, inside a black circle. It was done crudely. There were bits of wall showing through where paint should have met brick, and several lines were drawn through the symbol.

He checked his handheld again.

_21st and 6th Tolstoy Street... Right_, Huey thought. He made his way to the main streets, pulling up the collar of his black jacket and trying to blend in with the evening masses making their way to the subway station. Not easy if your afro was taller and bushier than the average bush.

The driver of the vehicle spotted him long before he spotted it, a shabby station wagon with one head lamp broken

It drove onto the curb, scaring away a few bystanders. The back door opened, with a beckoning hand.

"We gotta go Big 'Fro, gotta get the fuck outta dodge. Don't know who those cats were, but they sure didn't look like shift cops or even an agency." It was none other than Ceasar, his right hand man of the movement. He looked fidgety, his hand playing with a Colt .22 at his hip. He was dressed in the same clothes as Huey; a black jacket with rugged dark blue jeans, and combat boots. There was a logo on the jacket, a jagged fist in red rising inside a black circle.

Huey nodded, stepping inside the car as it swiftly drove into the black of the night. The wail of sirens and the clamour of conversations were all that persisted after, in the scene.

* * *

Since this is the Boondocks and all, I made sure to listen to rugged and raw revolutionary music, no doubt... I'll be shouting out a track as well each chapter, possibly a playlist of a bunch as accompaniment. Hope all you fine people out there enjoy the reading, and give me feedback after. I'd like to know if there's an audience for such ideas, so a review and feedback would be mad appreciated.

Rage Against The Machine: Darkness Of Greed


End file.
